


warmth from any other source

by cacowhistle



Series: ad astra per aspera [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, anyways. please heed the warnings, this delves heavily into those topics, tommy stared at that lava for a little too long and i was like "i cant not write about that"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle
Summary: Theseus throws himself over the edge of the cliff, leaving his body cast upon the rocks on the shore.Tommy stares down at the lava, and wonders if he could do the same.can be read as a standalone fic.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: ad astra per aspera [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060727
Comments: 47
Kudos: 1318





	warmth from any other source

Why does he bother?

Tommy sits on the ledge, the air hot and stifling as he gazes down at the lava below. The Nether is terrifying at best, deadly and traumatizing at worst, and yet he’s just sitting like he’s watching the goddamn sunset while he stares at an ocean of lava. Home is close, so close. It’s just a portal away. It would be so easy to cross through, to go back to L’manburg for just one night. Wilbur would be alright without him, he’s probably picking flowers or building pretty shit as Tommy sits here.

… Wilbur _would_ be alright without him. He’s been fine before. Tommy’s presence isn’t much of a necessity.

People seem to get on just fine without him, if not better.

The gears turn, and Tommy squints at the molten rock below him. It hurts to look at for too long, it’s far too bright. And while the heat of the Nether is bad enough, being this close to open lava is worse. His eyes sting, his face prickling with dry discomfort.

Why _does_ he bother with any of it?

Tommy stands, slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. His gaze doesn’t move from the lava.

It would be so incredibly easy to jump.

It would likely be over in seconds. It wouldn’t even hurt for long, he’d black out and his corpse would char in moments. There’d be no trace of him, not even a body to bury. He could disappear forever, and no-one would be the wiser to his true fate. Not even Dream would have the satisfaction of ending him. Everyone has forced his hand, before, but this… this could be a way out that nobody else could control.

He almost does it entirely because of that. One last _fuck you_ to Dream, going out on his own terms. It’s tempting as all Hell. He wants to do it, in this moment. He desperately wants to end this here and now.

He remembers that Wilbur is waiting for him, and steps back from the edge.

Maybe doing it with no preparation would be a bad idea. He wouldn’t want to just leave them forever, no sign of where he went. He doesn’t want Tubbo to be left wondering, a small part of him whispers, before the anger snarls and twists in his gut and shouts that _he doesn’t give a damn about how Tubbo feels about it._

It’s a lie, but it’s a good one. He’d want to leave something for Phil and his brothers, at the very least. Maybe something for Big Q, Fundy, Niki…

He steps back further from the edge, bringing his hands up to his face. Why is he considering this? This is fucked up, and yet--

Tommy _wants_ this. He wants this more than he wants the discs. He just wants out. He’s so tired, and the leap seems so satisfying to his ears. The thought of it taunts him, pleasure and fear and pain all at once. A way out. It’s a way out.

 _I don’t want to go,_ he pleads a day prior.

 _I want to go,_ he thinks to himself now, standing on the precipice of his epilogue.

Wilbur, he tells himself, Wilbur is waiting at home. He should go back.

Tommy backs away from the edge, and lives to see another day.

* * *

When he returns to Logsteadshire, Wilbur and Technoblade are waiting for him. Tommy is drained, far too exhausted to want to hate Technoblade right now. Before Wil or Techno can say anything, he stumbles towards where they’re seated by a fire, and all but falls in between, burying his face in Technoblade’s cloak. There’s a brief moment of stunned silence.

Then a weight falls around Tommy’s shoulders, and cloth drapes across his back as Techno puts an arm around him. Wilbur hums, softly, breaking the tension, and Tommy can feel himself relax almost from instinct.

He may be exiled from just about all of society, but he still has what matters.

… no Tubbo, but his brothers are here, and that is enough for now.

“Wil,” he finally says, voice sounding awfully small. He isn’t sure he likes it. He tilts his head so he can look at Wilbur, still buried in Technoblade’s arms. “Do you like being a ghost?”

Technoblade tenses, and Tommy knows the implications are not lost on him. Wilbur, however, is as oblivious as ever, smile dropping slightly if only because he does not like discussing his current circumstances. "It's fine enough. Why?"

"What made you become a ghost?" Tommy answers with another question, staring almost absently at the fire.

Wilbur is quiet for a few moments. "I… dunno, I just… woke up and was a ghost! Isn't it about unfinished business?"

Tommy's gaze is blank, distant as he glances at Wilbur. "... I think so."

Techno's grip tightens on Tommy's shoulder. Tommy does not look at him. He shakes him gently, an unusual thing from Techno, brow furrowing. Tommy finally reluctantly meets his eyes. There’s a fear there that Tommy is unfamiliar with, as Technoblade is not afraid of much. He realizes, faintly, that Technoblade is afraid for him. And while this could be said aloud, Techno is not a man of many words. His quiet moments are far more powerful.

He just shakes his head.

And that, precisely, is when Tommy begins to cry.

He doesn’t want to cry, as teenage boys often don’t, but the simple fact is that he can’t stop the tears once they begin. Wilbur lets out a startled, soft _oh_ , and Techno only holds him tighter. Tommy buries his face in Techno’s cloak again, trying to stifle his hiccuping sobs.

“Sorry,” he gasps, directed at Technoblade. His hands curl into little fists around the fabric of the cloak. “I’m sorry for being so angry with you.”

He hears Techno inhale, soft and sharp and surprised. His other arm comes around in a proper hug, and Tommy hugs right back, trembling from head to toe. “I did do a lot to deserve it,” he says, but Tommy just shakes his head.

“I don’t care what you did before.” He pulls back, wiping tears away. It’s a sight the brothers have not witnessed in a very long time, Tommy this distraught. “You’re here now. The people that matter are here now.”

He does not say Tubbo’s name.

He doesn’t need to say it at all.

The fact of the matter is, for these three brothers, that from here on out the past no longer defines their relationships. They are quite possibly at their lowest, ostracized from society after bringing about its creation and then its ruin, with only each other for comfort. But they have made the decision to stay together. Wilbur and Technoblade followed Tommy and stayed with him. They pledged their support, in their own ways, in ways that nobody else has done quite yet. They are supporting him now, and Tubbo is not, and Tommy thinks that maybe that is the deciding factor in who he cares about in this moment.

He misses Tubbo so badly it hurts. But he can’t dwell on it, or he _will_ throw himself into that lava.

(He might still do that anyways. But it will not be because of Tubbo, he tells himself.)

“You aren’t just a weapon to me,” Tommy croaks, grip on Techno’s cloak tightening. “You know that, right?”

Technoblade hums, softly, resting his chin on top of Tommy’s head. “I do.”

Tommy sniffles, burying his face in Techno’s chest once more.

“Good.”

* * *

There’s a lightness that comes after apology. A forgiveness, a lighthearted energy that cannot be found when there are still grievances held against an opposing party. Grudges, hatred, putrid disdain for one another that just cannot be shaken unless an apology comes about, it ruins any possibility of enjoyment in each other’s presence. It’s a poison, one that cannot be flushed from the system without hard work from the working parts that make the whole, all of them working in tandem.

Tommy and Technoblade fight the toxins that have threatened to overtake their relationship. It’s an effort, and Tommy gets angry again, as he so often does, but he does not chase Technoblade away. He isn’t as rude anymore, even, kinder and more lighthearted with his brother around.

There’s still shadows about his eyes, but Tommy does not seem to hate Techno anymore. It makes the days a little easier.

Today, the three brothers are gathered in the open fields just past Logsteadshire, Tommy and Technoblade with swords in hand. Wilbur sits beneath a tree with a book and quill in his lap and his guitar laying next to him, but any songwriting he’s doing is forgotten for now as his brothers spar and he cheers them on.

There’s the clang of metal against metal, a familiar sound that once grated on the ears and made Tommy flinch. Now, all it does is make him feel _alive._ The terror is temporary at the first clash, but it’s still something more than the odd, uncomfortable numbness that has begun taking root. Tommy is a skilled swordsman, for sure, but Technoblade even moreso. Tommy slips, hesitates, makes mistakes that only a beginner would make, and Techno knows that they are not mistakes.

Purposeful blunders. Reckless decisions. Not quite miscalculations, because that would imply he does not intend to leave a small cut in his own leg from the recoil. Techno sees the way he purposefully turns his wrist and leans into the movement, sees the momentary sick satisfaction as it works.

Tommy is smarter than he lets on. Anyone else would think he was incompetent. His brothers are smart enough to know not to call attention to his false idiocy.

So Technoblade does not confront him about it when he helps Tommy bandage his self-inflicted wounds.

Perhaps he should have.

* * *

“You know,” Ranboo says, “there are easier ways to get down.”

Tommy huffs, rolling his shoulders back as he picks himself up off the ground. “Faster this way,” he says, almost like a mini-Technoblade in his gruffness. He wrinkles his nose at the thought, he quite dislikes the comparison. Or--well--he pretends he does, at the very least. There are appearances to keep up, after all.

“You’re also taking out like half of your health when you do it, but okay, I guess,” Ranboo picks his way down the hillside far more carefully, and Tommy mutters something quite rude and disrespectful about Ranboo _just fucking teleporting, you shit-for-brains Enderman knockoff_ that Ranboo pointedly pretends he does not hear.

“... Sorry,” Tommy says anyways, and they move on.

“Is this Logsteadshire?” Ranboo tilts his head as he peers up at the walls that Wilbur so carefully constructed. Pride swells in Tommy’s chest (and a touch of fondness, though he won’t admit that), though he rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“No, it’s New fucking L’manburg.”

“Oh,” Ranboo says, and Tommy gives him an incredulous look before shoulder-checking him.

“Of course it’s Logsteadshire, c’mon. If we’re lucky, Technoblade won’t be here.” He leads the way into their little campground, tossing his axe onto the barrels piled in the corner.

They are not lucky. Technoblade sits by the firepit, “talking” to Wilbur. He isn’t doing a lot of talking, from the looks of it, as he so often does not. Wilbur is going on about something rather passionately, but Tommy doesn’t care enough to tune in. Techno hums, a noncommittal noise of agreement, before he spots Tommy and Ranboo, and nods at the two of them in greeting.

“And _that’s_ why--” Wilbur’s gaze lands on them. “Oh! Tommy! Ranboo!”

“We’re just stopping back in for a minute,” Tommy says, crossing the little clearing to pat Mushroom Henry’s nose. The mooshroom grunts, and Tommy moves to give him an affectionate scratch behind the ears. He looks towards Ranboo. “Did you have any other plans, or should we go get that blaze powder?”

“Nah, I’m good when you are. Let’s do it.”

Their adventures in the Nether are fairly standard, though Tommy takes just about every opportunity to tightrope above lava, only making Ranboo more and more anxious as the journey goes on.

“Bet I can do a cartwheel across,” Tommy says at one point, nodding towards a particularly narrow bit of netherrack. Ranboo’s stomach twists with fear just _looking_ at it.

“Don’t,” he begins, but Tommy’s already moving towards it.

There’s an odd look in his eyes that almost scares Ranboo. A certain determination, a grim acceptance. An indifference where there should have been anxiety. Ranboo carefully inches forward, preparing to teleport both of them out of there if need be.

Tommy does it. It isn’t a perfect cartwheel. He cuts his hand on the netherrack, but he doesn’t fall. He doesn’t land quite right, almost slips, but he doesn’t seem at all alarmed. Ranboo doesn’t understand how, considering how he just almost went into cardiac arrest just _watching_ the display.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns, and Tommy rolls his eyes.

“Whatever,” he says.

He doesn’t. Ranboo still can’t shake the sense that something is wrong.

* * *

Tommy is alone in the Nether, again, staring at the portal that leads home.

It would be so easy to walk through, and the thought is more tempting than anything else. He stands and stares, silent. His thoughts are sluggish, flicking from idea to idea, half-formed plans to sneak through without being seen. He wants to go so badly.

Would being caught be a bad thing, even? It would fulfill that desire, that itch in his bones that longs for peace. A sword through the ribs might be faster than the lava. It might even be less painful. It’d be a sick mirror of Wilbur’s own death, speared through and left to bleed out on the remains of a country that he built and brought ruin to. He wonders how Wilbur felt, in those dying moments. At least he had the pleasure of dying in Phil’s arms. Tommy thinks he would much prefer that over being killed by Dream. The lava is preferable, between his two current options. He doubts Phil would want the blood of a second son on his hands.

Tommy is drawn from his macabre inner monologue by the sound of voices.

Familiar ones, actually. He makes out the delighted cackle of Fundy, and his heart stops. He doesn’t want to be seen here.

Feet hit blackstone harder and faster than before, darting back along the path. He glimpses the lava below, warm and bubbling and inviting, the glow more alluring by every passing day. He grits his teeth and jerks his gaze away, finally hitting the netherrack. There’s a cliff before him, now. He has to climb down to the lower ledge, then go across the walkway.

Past the lower ledge, though, there is a steep drop into nothing but lava.

This is the same spot he stood just days prior, considering the same thing. He hears Fundy’s voice again, in the distance, difficult to make out the words. Then, more clearly--

“That took way more than twenty minutes, Fundy.”

Tubbo.

Tommy’s heart seizes and his shoulders stiffen, hands curling into fists at the sound of Tubbo’s voice. He can’t tear his gaze away from the lava below, but he strains his ears, hears the echoing footsteps of his two… friends, hears their bickering.

“I wasn’t even finished, I’m gonna have to come back tonight.”

“Bring Ranboo next time, I can’t…”

The sound is drowned out by the rush of his own blood in his ears, his pounding heart as he stares down at the lava, contemplating. If he’s quick and silent, they will be none the wiser, and he can end it now.

Does he really want to die?

He thinks of Wilbur and Techno, takes a deep breath, coughs when the hot air hits the back of his throat. He can’t hear anything except his own heartbeat, the sounds of the Nether muffled save for the sizzling of the lava, any voices are far behind him and indistinguishable from any other noise. It would be so, so easy.

He wants to go _so badly._

“Not today,” he whispers, and goes home.

* * *

_Selfish,_ his mind echoes.

Tommy is sitting on the bench, watching the sunset. Odd, why is he sitting on the bench? Part of him whispers that he shouldn’t be here, but he doesn’t see why not. It’s just the bench. Nothing’s wrong, things have been _peaceful,_ so why does he keep looking over his shoulder?

He doesn’t see anyone when he does the first few times. Being alone here is almost stranger--shouldn’t Tubbo be here with him?

… where is everyone?

The cliff before him flickers in a way that makes his eyes hurt. One moment it is the cliff, and the next it is something different, something hellish and red and twisted beneath his feet. Netherrack, hard and cracked, so different from the grass beneath the bench. Then, it is the grass again. The in between moment is odd, his brain skips over it. One moment it is grass, the next it is not, and then it is grass again.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, getting to his feet.

The ground turns red and ugly beneath him, and he hears the bubbling of lava, feels the heat rising up the cliff, sees the vast lava lake that spreads across the Nether and knows, _remembers_ what happened.

He tries to cling to the memory of the bench, stumbling backwards, away from the edge. He wants to go back, he wants Tubbo and the discs and his brothers and Phil and--and he just wants _peace,_ he wants to be able to relax, to _sleep at night_ without this bullshit.

He wants Tubbo.

He wants this all to end.

“Selfish,” Tubbo says from behind him.

He wakes up in a cold sweat.

* * *

Ranboo knows that something is wrong.

Of course something is wrong--Tommy’s been exiled, Tommy’s been _quiet._ It’s painful to witness, and Ranboo’s only known him for a few weeks at most. All that time, Tommy has been lively, energetic and bright and driven. Ranboo thought he was _annoying_ at first. Now, he’s just worried, watching Tommy traverse the Nether with reckless abandon, watching how he drops down from ledges with no real regard for his own safety.

Exile has brought out a side of Tommy that Ranboo fears and worries about. A depressed, bitter, hopeless side, one that stares at lava, laughs bitterly at his own dark humor. One that either talks too much or not at all.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to find Tommy standing there on the ledge, staring down at the lava.

Ranboo still can’t make himself move when he jumps.

He thinks he shouts. All he knows is that Fundy is diving after him with a splash potion in hand. Ranboo pulls out an ender pearl, and follows suit.

There’s the stark outline of Tommy against the lava before he hits it. Ranboo hears glass shatter.

He doesn’t remember the rest.

* * *

There is a little campsite on the seashore, miles out from L’manburg. In this campsite sits a campfire, and around this campfire sits two brothers, a son, and a friend. Wilbur stares into the fire, face blank. Fundy leans against his shoulder, sound asleep, brow creased with worry. Beside Fundy sits Ranboo, hands clenched into fists, shoulders tense as he glances back and forth from the fire to the cottage. Pacing back and forth in front of the campfire is Techno, cloak sweeping across the ground.

Phil emerges from the cottage, and everyone turns to him expectantly. Eager. Afraid.

“He’s awake,” Phil says, gentle. A collective breath of relief is released.

There is still tension in the air, but for the most part, everyone can breathe.

Tommy, laying inside, stares up at the ceiling, and thinks of nothing but burning.

* * *

“How’re you feeling?” This is the fourth time Phil has greeted him with this question. Tommy is going to stop counting once they hit ten, he decides. He is going to stop answering even sooner, because the answer has not changed.

He scowls at Phil to prove this point. Phil just smiles, soft and sad, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Tommy doesn’t cry this time, so it’s a victory in his book.

“You gotta say something,” Phil says, sitting beside him on the bed. Tommy shifts, gaze sliding guiltily to the left.

“M’tired,” he grumbles, sinking further into the blankets.

“You’ve been tired a lot, hm?” Phil reaches out, carding a hand through his hair again. Tommy doesn’t complain this time, but leans into the touch instead. Phil’s nails scratch gently against his scalp, and Tommy lets out a quiet, content sigh.

“Haven’t been able to sleep.” It doesn’t help that he sees lava when he closes his eyes.

Phil hums for a moment, thinking. “Do you wanna talk about it?” By _it,_ he means the cliff. The lava. The jump, his desire for death. Tommy knows this from the slight grim set to his jaw and the look in his eyes.

“Did Wil want it?” He asks instead, and Phil slowly goes still.

“Want what?” He smiles, gentle, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. Tommy does, however, and they both know. The question means nothing on Phil’s tongue.

“He said it made him happy,” Tommy continues, softer than he’s ever been, turning his eyes towards the window. He stares out at Logsteadshire. Phil shifts beside him, sighs, begins carding a hand through his hair once more.

“He did,” Phil says, softly. “He asked me to do it. He probably understands.”

Tommy does not have to ask. _He probably understands you,_ Phil does not say.

“Talk to him,” he says instead. He ruffles Tommy’s hair again.

Phil stays a while longer, and Tommy finally manages to get some sleep.

* * *

Fundy and Ranboo did not come back last night.

That is only unusual in the fact that Ranboo always comes to visit at night. Tubbo stays up, waits for him, and still nobody comes. He goes to bed anxious, restless, unsure what he’s waiting for. Ranboo doesn’t owe him a visit every day, but the fact that he and Fundy are still gone in the morning sets Tubbo’s stomach squirming with fear. He can’t keep losing people.

He’s just about ready to tear apart the SMP looking for them when they return around midday, stumbling out of the Nether portal, Ghostbur trailing behind them. None of them look like they’ve really slept, though that’s normal for Wilbur these days, and Fundy is shaking a bit.

“Get some rest,” he hears Ranboo say, patting Fundy on the shoulder, “I’ll talk to--”

They spot each other, then, Ranboo and Tubbo, and everything falls silent.

“Tubbo,” Ranboo says, nervously, and Tubbo’s heart sinks.

“Where have you been?” He demands, moving forward to meet them halfway.

“Nether,” Fundy says, sounding bone-tired.

“Tommy,” Ghostbur says softly, as if that answers everything. All it does is make Tubbo _more_ afraid.

Ranboo and Fundy glance at each other. Ranboo clears his throat. “Fundy, you should go get some rest.”

“Yeah,” he says, patting Ranboo’s shoulder. His hands are all cut up, Tubbo notes. “I’m going to.”

Fundy walks off, and Ranboo starts walking towards L’manburg, jerking his head as a sign for Tubbo to follow. He does without question, hurrying to walk by his side. Ghostbur trails after them, hovering anxiously a few feet behind.

“What happened?” Tubbo keeps his voice low, unable to keep the urgency from his tone.

Ranboo shakes his head. “You’re gonna need to sit.”

It’s with that worrying assurance that they make the rest of the walk in silence, Ranboo idling by the bench looking out over the cliff. Tubbo hesitates, but lowers himself to sit on it, hands already shaking. He’s terrified, suddenly, of whatever Ranboo is about to tell him. He looks up at him, not wanting to look out at the countryside. The view reminds him too much of Tommy, and he does not want to cry right now.

“What’s going on,” he asks, though it’s more like a statement. “What happened to--” _Tommy._

He pauses. Tries to regain his composure. “What happened?”

Ranboo does not look him in the eye. “He tried to jump into lava.”

What he does not say is: _He tried to kill himself._

Tubbo hears it anyways.

He doesn’t quite register it, for a moment. He stares at Ranboo, almost incredulous, letting out a nervous, horrified laugh. “What?”

Ranboo looks away, avoiding the eye contact. “... Fundy and I got him out. He only got a little burned.”

Tubbo doesn’t realize he’s started crying until Ranboo makes some sort of alarmed noise in the back of his throat. There’s an odd keening sound that Tubbo recognizes as himself after a few moments as he hunches his shoulders, clapping one hand against his mouth. There’s a hand on his back, colder than Ranboo’s would be, rubbing circles there.

“He’s okay,” Ghostbur murmurs, “we got him.”

Tubbo chokes on another horrified sob. “But he--he still--”

Ranboo settles on the other side of him, and Tubbo leans against his shoulder like he’ll fall apart without the support. He thinks he might, quite honestly. This is his fault, if he had been brave, if he’d stood up to Dream and fought for his country Tommy wouldn’t have--

He breathes in, trying hard to fight back the tears. Tommy’s alive. That’s what matters. He’s alive and… probably not okay, but he’s not gone yet.

“I should--should I talk to him?”

Ghostbur hums, softly. “At some point. Give him time, though.”

There’s a few moments of quiet before Ghostbur lets out a quiet _oh!_ and begins shuffling through his messenger bag. “I brought you something to help you feel better.”

Tubbo sniffles. “What is it?”

“So,” Ghostbur says, pulling out a few objects, “I know you and Tommy are real close, right? And you care about each other a lot, and you mean the world to each other, so I got you something that will tell you where the other is _all the time.”_

He holds out a compass and a necklace with a small pale stone on it, a netherite gem gleaming up at him from the middle. A lodestone, but smaller, portable. The compass has an enchanted sheen about the edges as Wilbur pushes it into his hands.

“I’m gonna give him a matching set. So you two, wherever you are, will always be able to find each other with your compasses, as long as you wear the lodestone.” Ghostbur looks quite proud of himself, and Tubbo manages a tearful smile.

“Thanks, Wil,” he says, softly.

He stares down at the compass, and vows to never let this happen again.

* * *

Tommy is not allowed in the Nether alone anymore.

It’s a fair rule, and it’s enforced--not even by Dream, at this point. Phil and Techno have all but moved in, spending an awful lot of time around and checking in with him whenever they seem to have the chance. They’re valid fears, the only reason Tommy doesn’t bother trying to jump again is because he knows he will just be saved, and he doesn’t want to go through the humiliation and shame of waking up afterwards, knowing what he’s tried to do.

At first, Techno merely tagged along on his trips to the Nether, and Tommy had passed it off as his brother being, well, his brother: annoying and overprotective. He knew the real reason, of course he did, but it wasn’t as apparent until he went alone one day, and got lectured for ten minutes straight and then hugged for longer by Ghostbur after he and Techno had torn apart the area looking for him.

He’d scared them, yes, and he admits now that they have very good reason to be scared, but…

He’s bitter, almost, that they care now, but didn’t seem to before. Wilbur probably wouldn’t have even batted an eye, when he was alive--at least, the alive version of Wilbur he has the most recent memories of. Technoblade murdered Tubbo in front of him, tore his country to shreds, promised to kill every last person involved in the makings of a new government, did so much to hurt him.

Oh, how things have changed.

Now, the brothers are tugging Tommy back from both the literal and metaphorical edge just about every day. Techno is harsh when Wilbur cannot be, and Wilbur is gentle and patient when Techno is too cold. Tommy hates this anxious form of babysitting, he feels like a little kid again, being carted around by his older brothers. He wants to dramatically stare down at the lava in peace, maybe monologue to himself a bit. Bitterly, he almost wants to throw himself over the edge just to make Techno chase after him.

A hand lands on his shoulder, familiar and heavy, guiding him gently away from the edge. Tommy doesn’t look up at Technoblade, face burning red with shame. He isn’t a fucking _dog,_ they don’t have to leash him to save him from himself, _god._

“Don’t touch me,” he snaps instead, shrugging off Techno’s hand.

“Don’t throw yourself into the lava,” Technoblade shoots back. Tommy scowls.

“I wasn’t going to!”

“Tell that to the splash potion in my pocket.”

Tommy turns away with a huff. He’s not stupid, he isn’t going to just fling himself off with reckless abandon. He knows better. The lava is not an option anymore. He isn’t sure if he’s glad that Techno is here or not. He should be glad, right? He ought to be thankful that someone cares enough.

Instead, he just feels a bitterness that makes his skin crawl. He doesn’t _really_ want to die, does he?

“Wilbur told me,” Techno says, voice lacking its usual gruffness. This is going to be a _conversation._ “Just a few days before the festival. He wanted the dynamite to take him out.”

That gets Tommy’s attention. He looks over at Techno, whose eyes are almost haunted as he gazes out over the lava. “He did?”

Technoblade nods. “Yup.”

They’re silent for a few moments, staring out at the lava. Finally, Techno speaks again: “I can’t lose both of you like that.”

Tommy looks away. He should feel guilty, shouldn’t he? He ought to feel remorse for scaring Techno like this. Maybe he really is selfish, still wanting to throw himself to the magma cubes without any regard for how Techno and the others may feel.

It’s with an odd sort of detachment that he realizes, _huh. I’m genuinely suicidal._

It should be some sort of grand, fucked up revelation. It should change his world. It should be a groundbreaking realization, something that changes how he views himself. He squints out at the lava.

 _That’s fucked up,_ he thinks, and the world goes on.

* * *

It’s a beautiful day in Logsteadshire. The sun is out, though it isn’t too hot, and a gentle breeze goes by, rustling the leaves of the trees. It’s familiar, a welcoming sort of residence, a reminder of an old farm out in the middle of nowhere. A vacation from the icy cold plains, the chilled empire of their ragtag little family’s first home. That’s what this field reminds Tommy of, a home that he once lived in. Games of _it_ through the tall grass, chasing birds and butterflies and each other. Running from Technoblade when he gets tagged, tackling Tubbo or Wilbur with a delighted cackle--they were always the easiest targets. This field smells of flowers, of summers long gone, peace that has long since been forgotten.

Tommy quite likes it, this nostalgia. It’s better than the deep-seated nothingness that has resided in his chest the last few weeks. His heart aches with the longing of it all, a wish for simpler times that they just cannot return to.

It’s a home, but it isn’t _his._ He can’t help the sidelong glances towards the Nether portal in the distance. The way he studies the branch of a tree for its sturdiness. He hears Ghostbur humming, softly, in the field behind him. Probably picking flowers, preparing to make more blue.

“Hey,” he calls over his shoulder, “Wilbur.”

He hears the rustle of grass, the footsteps. Sees the soft yellow sweater in his peripheral. “Tommy! What’s up?”

Tommy looks out at the ocean. Takes a deep breath. “Can we talk?”

A beat of silence. “I don’t like the way you’re saying that.”

“It won’t be… too sad. Promise.” Tommy pats the ground beside him as he turns to face Wilbur. The ghost wrinkles his nose, but sits beside him anyways.

“You alright?” He tilts his head, and Tommy smiles, softly.

“Just wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, don’t leave me waiting.” Wilbur leans forward, eyebrows raising.

Tommy turns his gaze towards the ocean again, not wanting to look Wilbur in the eye. His ears feel hot, he’s almost embarrassed to broach this topic with Wil. Shame washes over him as he thinks of the lava once more, and he fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

He takes a deep breath. “You wanted Phil to kill you, yeah?”

Wilbur is silent, and Tommy is afraid for a few moments that he scared him off. A sideways glance proves otherwise, though he does not expect Wilbur to be staring directly at him.

“Yeah,” Wilbur says. “I did.”

“Why?”

The silence stretches for longer. Wilbur scrunches his nose, squints out at the ocean. “I’m not sure. I just… wanted it.”

Tommy pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. “Was it worth it?”

Wilbur hums, softly, thinking. “... I can’t say for sure.”

They’re quiet for a moment, before Wilbur gets to his feet. “Enough sad stuff! I have a gift for you, Tommy, come on.”

“A gift?” He’s already beginning to stand. “What kind of gift?”

“I was just thinking, what does Tommy really, _really_ like,” Wilbur says, weaving through the grass to lead him back towards Logsteadshire, “and I figured you like a lot of things! But, but--” he grins over his shoulder, “you really like Tubbo, yeah?”

Tommy’s steps falter. “... Yeah.”

Wilbur sweeps into the little cottage, digging into a barrel. He pulls out a compass, first, with an enchanted shimmer around the edges, and a necklace--a black string with a small, pale stone with a netherite gem in it. A lodestone, he realizes. Wilbur holds the objects out to him, looking awfully pleased.

“It took a lot of materials, I had to get netherite from Fundy, but I made you a compass that _always_ points to your Tubbo! He has a matching set! So no matter where you are in the world, you’ll always know where the other is.” Wilbur beams, and Tommy is very proud of himself for not breaking down into tears right then and there.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur tilts his head.

“... Yeah,” Tommy says, softly. “Yeah, I do. Thank you, Wilbur.”

His eyes brighten once more. “Good! I thought I should give that to you before we go.”

Tommy frowns, slightly. “Go?”

“Phil said to take you to Technoblade’s place, that he’d meet us there!” Wilbur crosses back to the barrel, pulling out an old, familiar coat. “Take this, it’s gonna be cold, I don’t need it.”

Tommy catches the worn fabric, staring down at Wilbur’s old coat. The hole in the back has been patched, though there’s still a bit of blood. Tommy isn’t sure how to feel about it--he’s almost nauseous thinking about it again, quite honestly, but… it’s a gift, and Wilbur is right about it being cold where Techno is. He slides the coat on, trying to convince himself that he doesn’t _actually_ want it, he’s just borrowing it, though he’s sure Wilbur won’t mind when he doesn’t give it back later.

He breathes in the faint smell of smoke. The past still nips at his heels, haunts him at every corner, but… he can breathe easier, standing here, lodestone around his neck and compass in hand. He will see Tubbo again.

For now, he and Wilbur pack their things and abandon the temporary home they built for themselves, the spirit of civilization following their every move. Wilbur shoves an old beanie of his, dark red, over Tommy’s ears, insistent that he’ll be too cold otherwise. They make the trek to Technoblade’s cabin and are welcomed with open arms, a warm fire, Phil’s gentle laughter. Tommy’s chest doesn’t ache, and he actually smiles, running into Phil’s arms.

Nostalgia, Tommy thinks, faintly, as he settles next to his family by the fire. It’s peaceful, here.

For the first time in weeks, Tommy does not think of lava.

For the first time in weeks, Tommy feels at home.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! if you want updates on my work follow me on tumblr @ cacowhistle!!
> 
> EDIT: [someone wrote a fic inspired by this one!! go read it!! it's fucking gorgeous!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001355)
> 
> EDIT (again): [i've written a follow-up piece to this one! mayb give it a read if you want some softer bits of the aftermath :]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28151664)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [as painless and colourful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28001355) by [droppingdroplets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/droppingdroplets/pseuds/droppingdroplets)
  * [i just needed company now (i just needed someone around)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28022790) by [far2late](https://archiveofourown.org/users/far2late/pseuds/far2late)




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